


More than alright

by ToxicPineapple



Series: Rantaro Amami Week 2020 [4]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: 'I'll bake a cherry pie when it's all over', 'Today's the day', Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Banter, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Light Angst, Married Fluff, Nonbinary Amami Rantaro, Platonic Relationships, Post-Hope's Peak Academy, They're all adults now!, Y'know that post that's like, angst if you squint, that's this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: The moment before their hand makes contact with the back of her neck, Mukuro says, “You better not have licked those fingers.”“Wanna fuck around and find out?” Rantaro’s grin widens.“Not with your saliva, no. But if you want to call my husband in here--”“Mukuro, please, there are children in the room.”Mukuro glances around the kitchen, her expression momentarily confused. “No there aren’t? Who are you t--” her eyes narrow, and land on Rantaro.“It’s me,” Rantaro says, unnecessarily. “I’m baby.”---Rantaro and Kirumi go over to Mukuro and Makoto's house for dinner, and Rantaro thinks about how much has changed, since they were young.---Amami week day four: Trust/Family
Relationships: Amami Rantaro & Ikusaba Mukuro, Amami Rantaro/Toujou Kirumi, Ikusaba Mukuro/Naegi Makoto
Series: Rantaro Amami Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941298
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	More than alright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Storyflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storyflight/gifts).



> written for amami week day four. the prompt was trust/family
> 
> i didn't publicise amami week this year because it's a personal writing project i'm doing with a few other friends. here are the prompts for the week, but it is kind of a friend event, just for the record. i'm aware that i'm doing this at the exact same time as amamatsu week and i really wish i had known before i already had two fics finished so i could try and put it at another time FKJDSFKLj but yeah, please support amamatsu week and don't do this challenge with me unless you're one of my friends who was already doing it. <3
> 
> day one: stay/go  
> day two: lost/fault  
> day three: home/ocean  
> day four: trust/family  
> day five: safe/danger  
> day six: gold/green  
> day seven: free space/birthday
> 
> (hi story! this is the first of the two fics i'll be gifting to you for your birthday this year, ilysm, please read the end note)

Kirumi’s casserole is hot and the dish she gave to Rantaro to hold it in isn’t doing them any favours, not-getting-burned wise. That being said, they’d rather shovel half of it into their mouth right this moment than hand it over.

“Rantaro,” Kirumi starts.

“No, I’m  _ holding  _ it,” Rantaro insists, holding the casserole away from their body (and subsequently their wife), wrinkling their nose slightly at the way it feels against their fingertips. “I’ve got this. I made it this far with it on my lap. I can do it.”

“I am wearing gloves,” Kirumi points out, trying again, which Rantaro really thinks she would’ve stopped doing by now. They shake their head, adamant, and reach up with the casserole to ring the doorbell a second time. Hurry  _ up,  _ Muku, you haven’t failed Rantaro yet, please don’t start making a habit of it now. “I am simply suggesting that you allow me to hold onto it for just a moment. It would only be a moment.”

“Which is why I can hold it!” Rantaro exclaims. “I’m not giving my  _ pregnant wife--” _

“Two months pregnant,” Kirumi sighs.

“--a burning hot ceramic dish of casserole to hold. It’s not happening. It’s not.” They shake their head. “I’ve got this. I’m a big kid. I can hold a dish.” They pout a little, popping up to look through the peephole on the door. (They really don’t know why the peephole here is so high; neither Mukuro nor her husband are actually tall enough to see through it without, like, Mukuro lifting Makoto onto her back. Though, in retrospect, that might’ve been the idea.) “It would be nice if they would answer the door, though.”

“Do not ring the bell a third time,” Kirumi says, her eyes narrowing, her tone mock-strict. Rantaro grins, planning in every way to ring the bell a third time. “It is bad etiquette, Rantaro, and regardless of that voice in your head that compels you to take every possible opportunity to menace Mukuro,  _ Makoto  _ is there as well, and I’m not sure he would appreciate it.”

Before Rantaro can reply, the deadbolt clicks, loud and sharp, and the door swings open. Rantaro, who is looking at around Mukuro-level, doesn’t immediately see any black-haired best friends, so they lower their gaze until they meet the brown eyes of Mukuro and Makoto’s daughter Keiko. She’s grinning, wide, one of her curls sticking out of her mouth, and Rantaro notices a distinct lack of both of her top incisors.

It makes their chest warm a little. Mukuro and Makoto only adopted Keiko a few years ago, but she always looks so happy whenever Rantaro and Kirumi come by for a visit.

“Hii,” Keiko greets, her voice lilting a little, beaming. She turns her head to the side and calls, “Mommy, Aunt and Uncle are here,” to which Mukuro’s voice calls back,  _ tell Rantaro they’re banned from doorbells,  _ and Rantaro laughs.

“Hey there, Keiko,” Rantaro winks, crouching down to their niece’s eye-level, planting a kiss on the bridge of her nose. Keiko scrunches up her face, then giggles, swatting at Rantaro’s own nose, which is fair. “Sweetheart, can you do me a favour and spin Keiko around? I’m weighed down by fire.”

“You could let me carry it,” Kirumi says, smiling, but she scoops up Keiko regardless, gloved hands tugged snug under her niece’s arms, and then walks swiftly into the house, spinning her around and pulling her into a hug.

Rantaro probably would’ve forfeited casserole rights for that one. They just wanted to watch Kirumi with Keiko. It’s only a matter of time where she won’t be able to do that for a while. Smiling softly, Rantaro pulls themself to their feet and steps properly inside the Naegi-Ikusaba residence, nudging the door shut and stepping out of their shoes. Someone (probably Makoto) has already put out theirs and Kirumi’s indoor shoes. Rantaro steps into their own, then hefts the dish, shooting Keiko a grin as they pad into the hallway.

The smell of food wafts from the kitchen. It makes Rantaro a little nervous. Neither Makoto nor Mukuro is a particularly good cook (though Rantaro has tried very hard to teach the latter) and they don’t have any hired help around the home, so whatever is cooking in there is probably being cooked by one of them. Rantaro will eat it, of course, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be happy about it, goddamnit. They like eating good food. And they’d take a bullet for Mukuro but she burnt mac n’ cheese (out of a  _ box,  _ she burnt fucking Annie’s) the last time she tried to make it, so. It’ll be a lot.

When Rantaro ducks into the kitchen, they see that it is in fact Mukuro standing at the stove, which makes them a little nervous. They put Kirumi’s casserole on the counter and then step over to their friend, grinning, not bothering to announce their presence.

The moment before their hand makes contact with the back of her neck, Mukuro says, “You better not have licked those fingers.”

“Wanna fuck around and find out?” Rantaro’s grin widens.

“Not with  _ your  _ saliva, no. But if you want to call my husband in here--”

“Mukuro, please, there are children in the room.”

Mukuro glances around the kitchen, her expression momentarily confused. “No there aren’t? Who are you t--” her eyes narrow, and land on Rantaro.

“It’s me,” Rantaro says, unnecessarily. “I’m baby.”

“Shut up!” Mukuro starts laughing, turning back to the stove. Looks like she’s warming tomato sauce. “You’re  _ not  _ baby. You’re like the opposite of baby.”

“The anti-baby,” Rantaro suggests.

“That,” Mukuro nods, snorting and shaking her head. “Did you lick your fingers or not, anti-baby?”

“I did not,” Rantaro shakes their head, resting their dry fingers on the back of Mukuro’s neck as though to prove their point. (Her skin is always so cold. She doesn’t bristle at all upon contact, though. Partly because she knew it was going to happen, probably, but also because they’ve known each other long enough that this sort of thing just… makes sense.) “But my fingers are extra toasty right now thanks to carrying Kirumi’s dish.”

“If it was that hot,” Mukuro is facing away from them, but they can still hear the smile in her voice, “couldn’t you have let your wife handle it? She wears gloves, doesn’t she?”

“Why do the women in my life keep telling me to give the casserole to someone else?” Rantaro huffs. “I’m strong! I can carry it!”

“The first lesson I’ve learned in my relationships with women is that they’re usually right,” Makoto calls, coming in from the dining room. His hair seems to have been getting a bit long in the time since Rantaro last saw him; he’s tied it out of his face in a bun. Despite the words exiting Makoto’s mouth, when they make eye contact, Rantaro beams, moving over to embrace the man. They met Mukuro for coffee just recently, but Makoto works as a teacher and it keeps him busy, especially during this time of year, so they haven’t gotten to see him in a bit. His embrace is as warm as ever. “Hi, Rantaro, it’s really good to see you!” Makoto is beaming when they pull back. “Is Kirumi still in the foyer?”

“Probably,” Rantaro rolls one of their shoulders. “I asked her to spin Keiko for me because I was weighed down by casserole. Uh,” they continue speaking, before either Mukuro or her husband can cut him off, “you just came in from the dining room, right? Were you setting the table?”

“Sure was,” Makoto re-rolls up his sleeves, giving Rantaro a toothy smile. He still has those dimples when he smiles that he had back in high school, back when Rantaro first met him. It’s hard to believe sometimes that Makoto was in the year above them. “You want to lend me a hand? Think that’ll be easier on you than carrying hot food.”

“I can handle it!” Rantaro protests, but they laugh when Makoto does, following him over to the cupboards to get plates and glasses, carrying a good (but not precarious) amount of the stuff over into the dining room. It’s nice and warm in here, not least of all on account of the fireplace off on Rantaro’s right. Mukuro and Makoto don’t have a very big house, and as a result the dining hall and sitting room are sort of connected. It makes the place feel more homey. Rantaro remembers staying here back before they and Kirumi got back together, right back when their father first disowned them.

...Mmm. Rantaro really shouldn’t be thinking about their father today. It’s been a while since they’ve properly done so (between seeing clients and making preparations for the baby and keeping in touch with all of their sisters, Rantaro keeps busy) but it’s hard not to on days like this.

Rantaro was kind of a mess getting out of high school. Having only three out of twelve sisters found and no plans to settle down, ever, in general, made them sort of hard to be around. Kirumi learned that, at the very least, and between her work as a maid and Rantaro leaving the country so often they were only in town for a couple days between flights, their relationship, which had grown so  _ strong  _ in their third year of middle school, crumpled apart. It had been Kirumi who found the strength to properly end it, because things just weren’t working, and Rantaro couldn’t bring themself to let her in or let her help, and Rantaro didn’t even give themself a moment to process it, instead opting to stop returning to Japan altogether (unless it was to visit one of their sisters, or drop one of them off) and throw themself harder into their search than they had before.

They didn’t keep in touch with  _ anybody  _ from high school, not a single member of their class, but Mukuro was the exception. Even before they got close with Kirumi, Mukuro was always there, and in a way they weren’t the best for each other, because they were the kind of friends who were both individually addicted to their toxic things but kept letting the other do it regardless, but she was all Rantaro had, at times. There was no way they were going to let their sisters in on the way that their life was falling apart, and well, Mukuro had  _ seen  _ them through the worst of times, as they had for her, so… so she stayed.

Of course, they didn’t actually get  _ disowned  _ until they were twenty seven, until they brought Kikuko back home and refused their father when he asked them to take over the business. Rantaro had never had the head of a CEO. Their plans for their life after finding their sisters were non-existent. They never thought a day would come when they’d be able to sit down without thinking about one of their most important people, lost and alone in a world Rantaro had abandoned them in. But when they were done, when they were properly  _ done,  _ all they really knew was that they couldn’t do their father’s shitty business, couldn’t exploit people like he made a career off doing, and when Mina promised them that she wouldn’t let any of their sisters take their place, Rantaro allowed themself to drop off the map.

It’s a strange thing, though, to go from the heir to a multi- _ billion  _ dollar corporation to a homeless and estranged adult with no college education. With their Hope’s Peak diploma to back them up, they could’ve gotten into any university of their choice, regardless of what all the tabloids were saying about them suddenly being kicked to the curb. But Rantaro didn’t  _ want  _ to. They couldn’t see more than two feet in front of them. Suddenly all they could think about was Kirumi, and all the friends they used to have, and the good times, few as they were, that were sprinkled between travels. The ones that gave them the strength to keep going.

And then Mukuro and Makoto took them in.

Rantaro stressed that it couldn’t be a permanent arrangement, they wouldn’t allow Mukuro and Makoto to just support them like that, no matter how pathetic they looked, but they got waved off most times. The only time Mukuro properly responded, she elbowed Rantaro’s shoulder, muttering, “Y’know, for someone so devoted to your family, you really don’t notice when the rest of it is standing right in front of you.”

And it was… weird, to think about someone other than their sisters (and their father, despite everything) as family, but it was also hard not to, after staying with them for a while. Makoto had his work stories, which were so punctuated by Makoto’s specific brand of indignance, and his game nights, and the hot cocoa he busted out whenever the weather dropped below zero degrees. And Mukuro was, well, she was  _ Mukuro,  _ she was Rantaro’s best friend, and his sister, really, the person who kept his secrets and nursed his wounds and smacked the back of his head when he was being stupid. It wasn’t like Rantaro wasn’t seeing his sisters anymore, but having Mukuro and her husband behind them was like having new siblings all over again, and it was probably that that made it easier for them to go back to college.

They met Kirumi again there, working as a maid to one of the rich, young students on campus, and it was so  _ weird  _ seeing Kirumi after all those years, the beautiful, capable, hardworking woman who they let slip through their fingers when they were eighteen, but they had never really fallen out of love with her, and Kirumi had never had time for anything but her work, and things weren’t the  _ same,  _ sure, but if they had been the same, Rantaro… doesn’t think they would have worked.

Even after Rantaro moved out of this house, they’ve kept coming back to have dinner. It used to be every week, but with everyone being so busy all the time (Kirumi is on maternity leave right now, because cleaning like she does in her every-day really isn’t good for the baby, but everyone else is still working full-time) it’s been spaced out to once every month. At least half of the food they eat is usually pretty terrible-- Rantaro took over the cooking while they stayed with Mukuro and Makoto because even if they grew up having all their meals served to them they were much better behind the stove than their friends-- and sometimes it ends up raining or snowing so hard halfway through the evening that they have to stay the night, but Rantaro couldn’t be happier.

Sometimes it reminds them of being young again, back before Kikuko got lost in the Philippines, before they hated their father, before they stopped caring about adventure and before their house up north became so quiet and empty that Rantaro could barely stand to be in it for more than a few days at a time. Those memories are all hazy, though, and rose-tinted, and they all smell like golden syrup, flickering in Rantaro’s mind’s eye like a small fire.

These memories, the ones they make with their wife and Mukuro and Makoto and Keiko, they’re real. And they’re… happier, somehow, not tinged with that bittersweet knowledge that they’ll never have that again, no matter how often all their sisters come around for reunions.

It’s the brush of Kirumi’s gloved hand against the side of Rantaro’s face that brings them out of their thoughts, makes them aware that they spaced out in the middle of putting down plates, gazing thoughtfully into the fireplace. They blink, and feel a bit of moisture escape down their cheek, making eye contact with their wife, leaning into her touch.

“Are you alright?” Kirumi asks, softly. Her brows are knitted together with just the slightest bit of concern. Rantaro doesn’t blame her. They smile, and laugh a little, nodding their head.

“More than,” they say, earnestly, and lean forward to press a kiss to her forehead. How couldn’t they be, when they’re here with their family?

**Author's Note:**

> throws confetti
> 
> it's my two hundredth fic! shit's crazy! oh man, okay. dude. fucking hell. two hundred fics is. many fics. just, so many fics. i'm going to be eternally pissed that only 199 of those are danganronpa, like, that one undertale fic thrown in there? fucking me up, dude
> 
> but anyway. wow! how fitting that fic number two oh oh would be a gift fic for story. dude, i love you so much. i've never had a more supportive fandom friend and you've literally been here for almost as long as i've been in this fandom. you're so sweet and caring and seeing you online and talking just makes my serotonin go boom. i'm so glad to have you, you're just a fantastic person whom i care about so much. happy fucking birthday (even though it isn't for another few days) i'm so grateful to know you. your second gift fic is coming up on the third, so uh, stay tuned. i love you


End file.
